A Knock Can Change It All
by Bryn Elizabeth
Summary: It all started with a knock. Parker comes to Eliot because she knows that with him, she's safe, even with this.
1. Late Night Knocks

**Day 1**

Knocks on the door after eleven pm are very rarely a good thing. People don't drop by for coffee and conversation after eleven- no, emergencies stand on the welcome mat that late.

For Eliot Spencer, it usually means enemies.

He thinks he is prepared when he opens the door, right foot slightly in front of the left, an arm in front of precious internal organs- it's been seven months out of the business for him, seven months since he found he couldn't hit for just himself anymore, but he had accumulated his fair share of enemies during his lengthy career- he thinks he is ready for whatever is outside of his front door.

He is wrong.

He is not ready for Parker to be standing there. Parker, who he hasn't seen in over a year (one year, three months, and seventeen days, he knows). Parker with a bruised face, with a bleeding lip, with a defeated slouch and tired blue eyes. He is not ready for Parker with tears, with that look that makes him want to fix all the bad things in the world.

"Oh, my God. Parker. Come in."

He leads her to the sofa he has just vacated, sitting next to her and running his fingers gently over her wounds to assess the damage.

"What happened, Darlin'?"

She takes in a shaky breath. "I'm pregnant," she whispers, so quietly that he almost doesn't catch it.

He hates himself for asking the first question that comes to his mind- the first question that would come to anyone's mind- though she doesn't let him get it all out.

"Who's the fath-"

He hates himself for asking because of the way that she just shakes her head, trying to look away. He hates himself because that should not be the first thing he needs to tend to. He hates himself because someone has hurt, really hurt Parker, and all he can do is ask a question that hurts her even more.

Combating the rising anger, he reaches out and wipes away a small drop of blood from her lip with his thumb, lowering his voice. "Did he do this to you?"

She doesn't answer, just lays her head down on his shoulder. He takes that as a yes.

"Darlin'-" His voice is edged, deep. He's furious. He's failed. Parker has gotten hurt and he hadn't been there to stop it. It doesn't matter if it's his job anymore. She's hurt, and no matter how far away he had been, he allowed that. He has let someone hurt her, and now that person is going to pay.

She says nothing, and he doesn't push her – he knows she hasn't come to him to talk about what's happened, but because she knows that with him, she will always be safe and protected, and damn straight, she will be, as long as his heart beats. She doesn't have to talk. They can talk later.

As for tonight- as much as he wants to hunt down the guy who has done this to her, who hurt her, and probably kill him- he just holds the thief in his arms and lets her cry all of her tears until she runs out and finally falls asleep.


	2. Breakfast

**Day 2**

Eliot awakes and quietly disentangles himself from her, heading towards the kitchen. Reaching up over the island, he tries not to let the pots hit each other as he remembers what Parker likes for breakfast, and what's going to be good for her now. She finally stirs, mumbling something while she struggles to blink open her eyes as he plates up eggs and bacon.

"Mornin'," he drawls, pouring orange juice.

"Mmmm." It's a half sigh, half groan as she pulls herself off of the couch and into the kitchen. Parker looks down at the plates sitting on the counter and her hand flies to cover her nose. She retreats, shaking her head. She leans on the back of the couch, swallowing hard.

Immediately, Eliot gets rid of the offensive food, his blue eyes sympathetic. "Ya okay?"

"I don't feel good," she whispers, and the look on her face reminds him of a lost little girl, cowering in a Pakistani alley.

He nods. "I'm sorry."

She doesn't understand his apology. "That's stupid." He arches an eyebrow at her, and she frowns in her amusing Parker way. He's missed that. "This isn't your fault."

"I know." He looks at her meaningfully. "Doesn't mean..."

She tilts her head at him, inquisitive. Looks are not enough communication for her- she's Parker. "Doesn't mean what?"

He fumbles for words, leaning up against the oven, folding and unfolding a dish towel. "Ya know... Doesn't mean I won't help you."

She crosses her arms over her chest stubbornly. "I don't need your help, Eliot. I don't need anyone's help."

"Okay, okay." He puts in his hands up in surrender. "Fine, Parker."

Arms still crossed, still frowning, she asks, "Can I take a shower?"

"Yeah. Lemme get you some clothes."

* * *

While she's gone, he fixes himself breakfast- again. He mulls over his options with Parker, with the baby.

He realizes that he isn't the one who gets to think about what to do in this situation, but he can't help it. He's supposed to fix things. So, he eats, and then he chops an onion that doesn't need to be chopped, taking out his extra frustration on the vegetable.

After about half an hour, she comes back into the living room in a sweatshirt and bare legs. The sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder and falls to the middle of her thigh. It dwarfs her. He can't help but smile a little at that. She looks even more like the lost little girl.

She catches him looking. "I couldn't get the sweatpants to stay up."

He should have known. Parker is teeny tiny.

"Sorry 'bout that. We'll hafta go get ya something to wear."

She nods absentmindedly, heading towards the kitchen. "Do you have any cereal?"

He pulls down a box of her favorite kind- he rarely eats it, but any time it's gone, or it's gone stale, he buys another box at the grocery store for some reason he can't figure out.

Instead of taking one of the barstools, she sits on top of the island, legs folded underneath her, the sweatshirt stretched over them.

"You all right?" he asks, and she nods. "Okay. I'll be back in a little while."

"Where are you going?" She sounds slightly concerned, and so he hesitates.

"I've got a horse to train."

"A horse?" Her blue eyes widen. He's almost forgotten that she's afraid of them. He smiles reassuringly and she shifts a little, uncomfortable with the fluttering in her stomach.

"I'll be back soon. Make yourself at home."

* * *

He comes back hours later, his t-shirt damp with sweat, to find her curled up on the couch watching TV and eating popcorn.

"You smell," she greets him, wrinkling her nose.

"Ya think? I've been working." He growls in a way that feels more like home than either of them are used to. "What ya watching?"

"A Baby Story." His eyebrows rise in surprise and her face contorts into a disapproving expression when the woman onscreen wails in pain. "It hurts. A lot. And then... babies cry all the time."

He can't help but smile a little, amused. But the next think she says has him wiping the grin off of his face and closing the distance between them.

"I'm scared, Eliot."

Leaning over the back of the couch, he sweeps a hand across her shoulders, squeezing one comfortingly.

"It'll be all right," he assures her, and with the hopeful way she's looking at them, he prays he's not lying to her.


End file.
